


It's been 10 weeks

by Vanimelda4



Series: Teenlock short stories [6]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Multiple chapters, Slow Burn, Teenlock, i really don't like Mary and it might show, not much of mary/john
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2019-01-17
Packaged: 2019-03-26 23:55:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 20,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13868703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vanimelda4/pseuds/Vanimelda4
Summary: Part of my Teenlock au. All works in the series can be read separately, but work best as a whole.Take heed: there will be multiple chapters to this one.This is the story about how John and Sherlock got to be where they are now.John's grades are slipping, but being the captain of the rugby team he is incredibly popular.Sherlock has high grades, but is incredibly unpopular.They seem to be ideal study partners.If only Johns ex would stop bothering them things would be fine.This is a slow burn 'friends to lovers' fic. With John slowly realising he might be a tiny bit gay.





	1. Week one

'Are you coming too, John?', Greg asked. 

The rugby team was gathered together in their dressing room. Practice had just ended and the team was looking forward to an afternoon off. Well, everybody on the team except for John, that is.

'Nah, sorry', John replied as he shook his head and tried to stuff his dirty gear in his backpack without having to fold it first. 'I have somewhere I need to be.'

'Somewhere that's not hanging out with us? Must be a girl, right?' Gregs comment was met with some chuckles from their teammates that were close enough to overhear their conversation and Johns face turned just a tiny bit red as he zipped up his bag. 

'I wish' he sighed, 'I'm not doing too good in a couple of classes. If my grades drop any lower I'll be forced to quit the rugby team so the headmaster found this guy that's a class above me to tutor me one afternoon a week. I'm going to meet him now. Apparently he's some kind of genius '

John smiled sheepishly as he hoisted his bag on his shoulder, carefully avoiding mentioning that with “a couple of classes” he actually meant “almost all of them”. The headmaster had called him in for a a pretty serious talk the week before.  
'I know your home situation is somewhat difficult at the moment', the headmaster had said, 'but school is important. How well you do now has a tremendous impact on your future. I just want you to succeed in life, John.'  
John had said nothing. He'd just smiled, if he just seemed to go along with it maybe the headmaster would let him go, but internally he was screaming.  
A “difficult” home situation indeed....  
The headmaster was the only one in this school who knew why John's father was not around. Against Johns wishes his mother had told him when John switched schools about two years ago now. John hated that he knew. Every time the headmaster looked at John he could see it in his eyes. Sympathy. Poor John, with his dead father. John hated it. He didn't want anyone to feel sorry for him. To have that be the main emotion he evoked in people. Poor John who had been dealt such a hard lot in life. He was so much more. But as soon as people knew, they felt as if they had to treat him like something fragile. Easy to break. And they never gave him the opportunity to show his true potential.  
So after his father had died John had switched schools and had carefully avoided telling anyone anything about where his father was or what had happened.  
This had been working out well for him. He was fine. Except for those rare occasions when the soft sadness in the headmasters gaze hit him and highlighted the cracks in his well constructed walls. 

'This arrangement will work both ways really', apparently the headmaster was still talking. John hadn't been paying attention. Too eager to get back to a world that was blissfully unaware of his past.  
'This boy just got transferred to our school and he has very few friends', the headmaster continued. Still with that awful sympathetic look on his face. John felt like punching something, 'his grades are amazing though. I've never seen someone achieve such high scores in such a short amount of time. So I figured that while he helps you with your schoolwork, you might help him on a social level', the headmaster raised his eyebrows questioningly. Sympathetic smile not wavering one bit. 'Sounds good, right?'  
'Sure', was all John said. 

'That's settled then!', the headmaster seemed relieved. John didn't care.  
'I've arranged for the two of you to meet at the library after rugby practice every week. Since you already have that afternoon off it will not interfere with your classes.'

John had just nodded, 'Can I leave now?'

This time the headmasters smile did waver, 'of course, John.....but if there's anything you want to talk about.....anytime....you know where to find me, right?'

'Sure.' And with that John left. 

**********************************************************************

And so instead of going to the movies with the rest of the rugby team that Thursday afternoon he ended up making his way to the library to meet some guy with the unlikely name of “Sherlock Holmes” in the school library. 

Sebastian had snickered when John had mentioned his name after rugby practice.  
'Sherlock Holmes?' he'd said, 'I know that guy. He's in the same class as my brother. You better watch out, John. My brother says he's super gay!'  
Sebastian had laughed. John had not. John hated Sebastian. 

Sherlock Holmes was not at all what John had imagined him to be. Going by the headmasters description of his social status and academic achievements he'd been expecting some unassuming, short, nerdy guy with glasses too big for his face and a permanent runny nose.  
What he actually got was a tall, slim, but still well built young man wearing very well fitting and seemingly expensive clothes. His nose and cheekbones were somewhat sharp, but they were well balanced out by the soft, plump cupids bow of his lips. John tried very hard not to stare at them. On his head was a mop of raven-black unruly curls and just underneath a piercing icy gaze. Currently fixed on John as Sherlock held himself with a cold authoritarian air. 

'John Watson, I assume' Sherlock said. His voice a deep baritone rumble John felt more than heard. One eyebrow slightly raised as he looked him over. 

'Yeah....erm.....yeah', was all John could get himself to say. Still coming to terms with the sheer presence that was Sherlock Holmes.

'You're late.' 

'I had rugby practice.'

'Of course you did. Follow me.'

And with that Sherlock turned around and started walking towards one of the tables scattered around the library area.  
John shook his head and followed. Sherlock seemed.....interesting.

*********************************************************************************  
As it turned out studying with Sherlock was not as much of an ordeal as it had initially seemed.  
Sherlock had a clear way of explaining things and John soon realized he found the sound of his voice very pleasing. He felt like he could listen to it for hours. Even if the subject they were currently tackling was math.  
On top of that Sherlock himself was not as cool and stern as he had initially seemed. As the hours passed by on occasion the cool and distant look he bore on his face would make way for something much softer. A hint of a smile just barely visible tugging at the corners of his mouth as the stern line of his lips softened marginally.  
John noticed this change tended to occur when Sherlock thought John was engrossed in his assignment and not looking at him.  
Sherlock was putting up a facade it seemed. Meticulously hiding this softer side from the world. If he really was gay John could understand why.  
He could also relate.  
John felt surprisingly comfortable around Sherlock. This afternoon turned out to be not so bad after all, he thought as he relaxed in his chair.  
It was the sound of a familiar voice that made all his nerves come flooding back in.

'Johnny!'

John purposefully did not turn his head towards the direction of the shrill voice. Perhaps if he pretended he didn't hear her she'd go away. He didn't have to look to know who that voice belonged to.  
Mary.  
His ex-girflfriend.  
Shit.  
Sherlock gave him a puzzled look as he tried to hide his face in his math book.  
Mary did not seem to be taking the hint as she stopped right by the table where John and Sherlock were sitting. 

'Of all the placed to find you', she said and laughed, 'what on earth are you doing in the library?'. The last word coming out as if it was something dirty. 

'He's trying to study. Since we're in a library. Where people usually don't talk.' Sherlocks baritone reply. 

Mary turned towards him. Only now noticing him there. A look of disgust spreading on her face. 

'Holmes', she said curtly. 

'Mary', Sherlocks reply. 

'Wait. You know each other?' John was positively shocked. 

'Well “know” is a strong word', Mary said. A tight smile on her lips, her gaze still fixed on Sherlock 'I had the tremendous fortune of showing him around the school on his first day. Find everything you needed, Holmes?' Her smile widened, but John recognized its falseness. It was a smile he'd seen countless times before. Mostly when Mary was mad at him.

'Quite', Sherlock replied. An equally fake smile on his face, 'and yourself?'

'I wouldn't listen to him, Johnny', Mary said, turning her back to Sherlock, effectively blocking him out of the conversation, 'he lies.'  
Suddenly Mary's tone turned cheery again: 'So, Johnny, are you going to Philips party next week?'

'I'm not sure...'

'Oh, come on, Johnny. It'll be fun! I'll be there', Mary's hand was on his arm now as she leaned over the table and as John looked up at her her chest was right in front of his face. She was wearing an extremely low cut top. Bent over the table like this not a whole lot was left to the imagination. John swallowed.  
'I might be able to go for a little bit', he said.  
Over Mary's shoulder he could see Sherlock roll his eyes.  
'Wonderful!', Mary said, just a little bit too loud as she jumped back and clapped her hands. A few people sitting at the other tables scattered along the library shushed her.  
'I'll tell Philip you'll be there', she continued in a loud mock whisper and winked at him.  
And before John had a chance to reply Mary had already turned around and was making her way towards the library exit. Her hips swaying from side to side seductively. 

'Honestly', Sherlock muttered under his breath.  
'That was my ex', John said. Somehow feeling like he needed to clarify things.  
'Good', Sherlock replied, 'you can do so much better than her.'  
'She didn't seem to like you one bit.' John was still a bit shell shocked by the whole encounter.  
'The feeling's quite mutual, I can assure you.'  
'What happened between you two?'  
'I was under the impression we were here to study.'  
'Come on, Sherlock, you can tell me.'  
An actual smile spread across Sherlocks face now. John felt it was quite a good look on him. 'I'll tell you when you get an 'A' on your math test.'  
'So in other words: never.'  
'Come now John, here I thought you were the optimist out of the two of us.'  
John was just a bit confused now, 'me? How so?'  
Sherlock briefly looked down at Johns math book 'So far you've been consistently overestimating all of your answers by about 10 percent.'  
John groaned and dropped his head on the table.  
'We've got studying to do', Sherlock continued, 'Johnny.'  
John groaned again.  
And as Sherlock chuckled, John couldn't help but smile.


	2. Weeks 2 & 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's an idiot and Sherlock might be a bit too obvious.   
> (at least I think he's too obvious)

Week 2:

John sighed. Math was hard.   
This was his second week of studying with Sherlock, but he found he couldn't really concentrate on his work today.   
For one, tomorrow night was the night of Philips party that John had so stupidly agreed to go to. To say he was not looking forward to it was an understatement to say the least. Mary would be there. His ex-girlfriend Mary. Well, ex-girlfriend for the moment. John and Mary were notoriously known around the school for the “on again/ off again” nature of their relationship. If he ran into her at that party, a social setting, with alcohol and a relaxed atmosphere, things might happen between them. Things that had happened before.   
Whenever they broke up Mary had her ways of luring him back in. Promising him that this time everything would be different for sure. It never was. But he seemed to fall for it every single time.   
Of course he could just tell Philip he wasn't coming, but by now Mary had told the entire school that he was. And with Johns popularity as the captain of the rugby team, if he were to not show up, he would have a group of very drunk disappointed party-goers at his door to retrieve him in no time. This had also happened before. His mother had grounded him for a solid month. 

John sighed again and doodled a horse with five legs in the margins of his math book.   
The other thing that was distracting him was Sherlock. Sherlock was sitting at the opposite end of the table, reading a book, he seemed different today. His hair wasn't as unruly as it had been the last time. All of his curls were neatly held in place just so with what John assumed was hairspray. Well, all but one curl that hung defiantly across Sherlocks forehead. John couldn't stop looking at it. And then there was his shirt. Sherlocks attire from last time had been classy, but pretty unassuming. Everything he had worn had been a dark color. Almost designed to make him blend in. The shirt he wore today was a very tight purple thing with a v-neck. Lost in thought Johns eyes drifted from Sherlocks errant curl to his neck. Which was surprisingly pale, a stark contrast with the purple of his shirt and the jet-black color of his hair. Sherlock swallowed and without even realizing he was doing it John answered with a swallow of his own. 

'I highly doubt the answer to question 18 is a horse with what I hope to god is just a very large fifth leg', the sound of Sherlocks voice startled John from his musings. As he looked down at his drawing and saw the ambiguous nature of what it looked like he quickly scratched it out in embarrassment, turning a nice shade of dark red that was actually pretty complementary to Sherlocks shirt. So much for art school.   
'I highly doubt that's the correct answer either', Sherlock was smirking and John felt his face getting warmer still, 'something on your mind, John?'  
John coughed and shook his head. Trying to compose himself.   
'Nothing', he said, 'math is just hard.'  
'Exactly the reason why I'm tutoring you.'  
A couple of minutes passed by in silence as John tried to get his derailed mind back on track. He wasn't succeeding. 

'Sherlock?' 

'Hmmmm.' Sherlock had gone back to reading. The biography of a mathematician John had never heard of. 

'What do you do for fun?'

Sherlock looked up from his book. One eyebrow raised questioningly. The obstinate curl dangling in front of it.   
'Fun?' 

'Yeah, you know.....like going to parties and stuff. Philip's throwing this party tomorrow and...'

'Ah', Sherlock interjected as his eyes went back to his book again and he flipped to the next page, 'no, I don't do high school parties.'

'Why not?' John had completely given up on his math homework by now. 

'Because people at these kinds of parties tend to do stupid things.'

'You're afraid you'll do something stupid?' 

'No, I'm afraid other people will do stupid things and I will have to witness it.' Sherlock flipped another page, but his eyes were cast upwards and looking at John. 

'Well, I'm going' John tried. 

'I rest my case.' 

'Did you just call me stupid.' 

'You did think the answer to question 18 was a horse with a large cock.'

John snorted out a laugh as Sherlock grinned at him. Slightly stretching out that soft cupids bow as soft laughter lines formed at the corners of his mouth. It was a good look on him, John thought. 

'God, I hate math', John said as he stretched his arms above his head and arched his back.  
Sherlocks smile faltered for a moment, but was back again before John had time to properly register the emotion that briefly took its place. 

'You don't hate it, you just don't understand it', Sherlock said, 'Here, I'll explain it to you again', and with that he put his book down and picked up his chair from his side of the table and moved it directly next to Johns, leaning in and taking a pen in hand to correct all the answers where John had gone wrong. As he reached question 18 he just sighed and shook his head.   
'Honestly John.'  
John just grinned as the curl on Sherlocks forehead swung from side to side defiantly. 

The rest of the afternoon was over before John knew it. This had been the case the last time as well. There was just something about Sherlocks company and the pleasing tone of his voice that made John forget all about time.   
John really did hate math, but when their study session ended he couldn't help but feel a bit sad about it. 

'Are you sure you're not coming to the party tomorrow?' he tried again as they were getting ready to leave. 

'Positive.'

'Nothing I can do to convince you otherwise?' 

'Get an “A” on your test and I'll come to the next party.'

'So in other words: never.'

Sherlock just smiled again as he put on his jacket.

**************************************************************************************  
Week 3:

John was grinning from ear to ear when he walked into the library the next Thursday. As soon as Sherlock saw him he just sighed and shook his head. 

'Oh god', he said as he picked up a book and pretended to read. He wasn't fooling John. 

'What?' John asked. Still smiling. 

'You got back together with your ex at that party', Sherlock said. Eyes still on his book.

'How can you possibly know!' 

'You're smiling.'

'I'm not allowed to smile?' John sat down at the table on the chair opposite from Sherlock. His smile only faltering slightly. 

'I know that type of smile' Sherlock said. Still pretending to read, 'it's the type of smile you only see on stupid people or people who think they're in love.'

'And which one am I then?' 

Sherlock looked up briefly. 'Both.'

'Hey!' Johns smile had completely dropped now. 

'I told you. She's not good enough for you.'

'You can't know that.'

'I assure you, I can.'

A couple of minutes passed in silence as Sherlock flipped the pages of his book with just a little bit too much intensity. 

'Do you have a girlfriend?' John asked. Just to break the silence. But if the rumors were true he already knew the answer. 

'Girlfriend? No, not really my area.' Another page got decidedly flipped. 

'Boyfriend then? Which is fine.' 

'I know it's fine. And no'

Another awkward silence. John noticed absentmindedly that Sherlock was wearing his purple shirt again. 

'Look, Sherlock....' he started, but Sherlock interrupted him before he could finish whatever it was he was about to say. 

'Yes, I am gay John. I'm sure you've heard the rumors by now. And no, I'm not planning to make a move on you so there's nothing you need to worry about.' 

'I wasn't...I didn't think......'

Sherlock closed his book and put it down on the table just a little bit too hard. His usually soft lips formed a tense and straight line and there was a look in his eyes that John couldn't quite decipher.   
'Now can we please just do some math. That's what were here for after all.' 

John just nodded. 

The rest of the afternoon passed pretty much in the same fashion. Sherlock was cold and distant. There was no friendly banter between them like there had been the last time. No soft smiles as Sherlock looked at him over the edge of his book. Whenever John asked him something his answers were short and to the point and not once did he move his chair to sit next to John.   
John wasn't sure why but he had really liked it when Sherlock had sat so close to him the last time. 

As their session ended and they were getting ready to leave, Sherlock still far too tense and quiet, John tried to diffuse the tense atmosphere that had settled around them one last time. 

'Sherlock, I'm sorry if I said anything that...'

'It's fine John.'

'But...'

'I said it's fine', a few moments of silence before Sherlock continued. His tone seemed to finally be a bit softer this time.  
'See you next Thursday, yeah?' the beginning of a smile was visible around the corners of his lips, but it did not quite reach his eyes. 

'Yeah, yeah, of course', John nodded fervently. 

John felt as if a weight had been lifted from him. With Sherlock acting the way he did today he had been afraid Sherlock was going to cancel their study sessions altogether. John liked their study sessions. He liked Sherlocks company. He didn't want things to be over.   
And as Sherlock left the library. John heaved a sigh of relief. He was sure things would be back to normal next Thursday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one day? Yes! Because I had this one all thought out already and thought I might as well type it out.


	3. Week 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the last study session before Johns big math test. 
> 
> (I had planned to make this chapter longer. Have it span two weeks again. But I have decided to have week 5 be a chapter of its own. So apologies if not much happens in this chapter. It's basically setting up for things to come.)

You can't seriously be ditching us again, John!', Sebastian shook his head as he gave him an incredulous smile. 

It was Thursday again and, once again, John found himself in the changing rooms with the rest of the rugby team. Training had just ended and with no more classes scheduled that day the rest of the boys in Johns team were getting ready to leave.  
It had become somewhat of a custom for the team to do something fun together on their weekly afternoon off. John would usually join them, but ever since his study sessions with Sherlock had started he'd been forced to stop coming along. 

'You know I can't, Sebastian', he said, 'I'm meeting Sherlock in the library. Just like I've been doing for the past, oh, three weeks. And besides, we've got that math test on Monday. If I don't get a passing grade.... '

He didn't need to finish that sentence. The entire rugby team was well aware of the headmasters threats by now. If Johns grades did not improve he'd temporarily remove him from the team until they did.  
A silent understanding had been formed between him and his other team mates over the past few weeks and they'd usually just let John go off on his own on Thursdays without giving him too much of a hard time. Today, however, Sebastian seemed to be unwilling to let the subject go. 

'Yeah, yeah', Sebastian said dismissively, 'but this time we're going studying too. You can come study with us.'

John was all too aware of what a “study session” with the rugby team was like. Usually not a whole lot of studying got done.  
'No offense', he said, 'but if I go with you lot I'll probably end up knowing even less about math than I do now.' 

A few of the boys who were standing close enough to overhear the conversation laughed, but Sebastian wasn't letting him go that easily.  
'You sure seem to like hanging around with him a lot more than you like hanging out with us', he said. His eyes narrowing as he looked at John; clearly trying to get some kind of reaction from him.  
John decided he was not going to take the bait.  
'I just like passing math.' he replied as he slung his backpack over his shoulder. Ready to leave.  
And at first it seemed as if that had been enough for Sebastian to drop the subject, but just as John was about to open the door that separated the changing area from the rest of the school Sebastian came up with one more thing to say. Tone venomous as he spat out the words:  
'Go and be with your boyfriend then'

John froze. Hand on the doorknob.  
'And what exactly is that supposed to mean?' He kept his tone of voice flat and devoid of emotions while a silent anger was rising underneath.  
'Oh, you know', Sebastian spat again, 'they're already talking about him. Sooner or later people might start talking about you too. About the two of you. They'll think you're just like him. Disgusting'

A mixture of emotions took a hold of him then. Anger being the most predominant one, but there were others too. Much less well defined. Hiding just a little bit deeper, never surfacing long enough for John to get a hold of what they were exactly. And as he stood there, hand still on the door, the swirling emotions turned more and more volatile. Ready to explode.  
But just as he was about to return Sebastians remark with some venom of his own Greg intervened:  
'Come on Sebastian', he said, 'just let John go. The sooner he starts passing tests the sooner we can have him back all to ourselves. Alright?'  
A tense smile was on his face. A clear attempt to keep the atmosphere as light as possible and diffuse the situation. 

Sebastian said nothing. 

John left. 

**********************************************************************  
As John made his way to the library he felt his anger subside a bit as he focused on the afternoon ahead of him. He liked most of his team mates well enough, but there was just something about Sebastian that had always rubbed him the wrong way. Today, however, he had more important things on his mind.  
He really did need to pass Mondays test.  
He just hoped Sherlock would be in a better mood than he had been last week. 

*******************************************************************

As it turned out Sherlock was in a much better mood that day.  
Not a hint of the cold terseness that had been there last time could be found.  
Once again he was calmly explaining the subject material to John as he'd done in the weeks before. Their chairs slid close together, although, not quite as close as last time, John noticed, while he made a list of all the formulas John should know by heart before Monday.  
And as John watched Sherlock talk, trying his very best to keep up, he felt a weight lift from his shoulders that he hadn't realized had been there up until now.  
Even though he had only known Sherlock for a couple of weeks he felt a friendship had formed between them. A friendship that, in all honesty, he was very loath to lose.  
He wondered if Sherlock felt the same. Surely he did. He seemed to like spending time with John well enough if the soft smiles he occasionally gave him were anything to go by. Did Sherlock even have any other friends? John realized he actually didn't know. He'd never seen him with anyone else around the school. Come to think of it; not including their library study sessions, he never really saw him at school at all....

'Are you even listening to me, John?'

The sound of Sherlocks voice mentioning his name startled him out of his musings. 

'Err....what?', Johns eloquent reply. 

Sherlock just heaved a sigh of exasperation, but the the corners of his mouth turning upwards let John in on the true nature of his study partners mood 'So much for that A.'

'I might surprise you.' the corners of Johns mouth turned upwards as well as he crossed his arms defiantly and leaned back in his chair. 

'I would indeed be surprised.'

'In all honesty though. If a student fails isn't it really the teachers fault.'

'Not if the student spends his time drawing in his textbook instead of studying.'

John looked down at his textbook. Ah. They seemed to have reached question 18 again.  
He cleared his throat as his crude, hastily scratched out, horse drawing stared back at him, 'point taken. Teach me, oh great teacher.'

Once again, Sherlock sighed. 'Honestly, John.'

'Impart your great wisdom upon me.'

'I don't think...'

'Implant in me your pearls of knowledge.'

'I'm going to leave if you keep....'

'Teach me, senpai!'

Sherlock just shook his head, but a smile had slowly spread across his face. 'you're impossible.'

'Impossible to resist?'

'Just turn to chapter 15, John.'

'Aye-aye, captain.'

'And there goes your chance at a B'

*******************************************************************************  
The rest of the afternoon seemed to fly by as Sherlock tried to get John as ready for his test as he possibly could be. And by the time the library was closing they found themselves still sitting side by side at their regular table, bent over one of Johns books.  
And even though they physically hadn't done a whole lot more than sitting, John felt absolutely exhausted. And as he looked to his side he saw that Sherlock hadn't exactly gotten through the afternoon entirely unscathed either.  
His face was slightly flushed, the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up, both at slightly different heights, and his well groomed hair was a bit messier than it had been a couple of hours earlier; with now not just one, but several curls sticking out at odd ends. John felt the whole look was slightly endearing. Especially since this was a side of Sherlock he rarely got to see. Sherlock usually seemed so in control. Putting up a cool exterior which, John assumed, was meant to keep people out.  
If what Sebastian had said was true, that there were rumors going around about Sherlock, it only made sense for him to do so. It could not have been easy to have just been transferred to a new school and immediately have something as personal as your sexuality be the main topic of discussion amongst people you hardly even knew.  
Not for the first time since he'd met Sherlock he wondered why Sherlock had had to switch schools in the first place. So far he hadn't had the courage to ask Sherlock yet. And besides, even if he did ask, he was fairly certain Sherlock probably would evade the question like he usually did when John asked him something slightly personal. 

As John was lost in thought Sherlock put his hands in the small of his back and stretched his aching muscles, pushing his chest forward in the process. As he did so John absentmindedly noticed how, despite his slim figure, surprisingly muscular his chest was as his tight shirt strained over it. He swallowed as his stomach did something funny he couldn't quite place. The feeling was over before he could consciously register it. He was probably just tired from studying all day.  
John collected his books and got up. 

'I think I'm ready', he said, stretching his back as well, 'at least I hope to god I'm ready. I'd hate to think this was all for nothing. I'm used to rugby, but who knew math could be such a work-out.' 

Sherlock smiled as he got up as well. 'I think you'll be just fine.'

'Are you saying I might still be able to get an A?'

'I wouldn't get my hopes up.' A moment of silence. 'Maybe you'll be able to get some extra credit if you add some of your fine artwork.'

John chuckled as he shook his head and turned slightly red again.  
'Will you ever let me live that one down.'

'I will when you get an A.'

They were both giggling now. Just generally relieved that the day was over and John was actually feeling confident about an upcoming test for once.  
And as the baritone rumble of Sherlocks chuckles reached him, for the briefest of moments, Johns stomach did that strange, unknown thing again.


	4. Week 5 (part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is this a date? Surely it can't be a date. 
> 
> (This chapter turned out rather big and will be posted in two parts)

John felt elated. Ecstatic. Relieved.   
He hadn't felt this good in months. He was flying high and he was pretty sure that nothing on earth could possibly bring him down.  
And so that Thursday John entered the library with a spring in his step, his head held high and a massive grin on his face.   
When Sherlock noticed him come in, doofy grin and all, he just sighed, rolled his eyes and managed to slump impossibly lower in the chair he had currently placed himself in. 

John was not deterred. 

He just walked up to the table Sherlock found himself at with as confident a gait as he could muster and with his left hand he slammed the cause of his current good mood in the middle of the table. 

His math test.

'I', he said as the smile on his face grew impossibly wider, 'got a C+.'

Sherlock glimpsed down briefly at the piece of paper on the table, still partially covered by Johns hand but the passing grade was clearly visible, and just raised a haughty eyebrow as he looked at John. 

'No 'A'?'

'Come on Sherlock!', John continued, 'this is the highest grade I've ever gotten on a math-test. This calls for a celebration!'

'We're in a library.'

Sherlock tried to keep his tone flat, but the amused undertone did not escape John's attention. Nor did the way the corners of his soft cupids bow mouth turned ever so sightly upwards as a hint of a smile was slowly forming on it.   
Sherlock did not smile often, but it hadn't taken John long to realize he really liked it when Sherlock did.   
It helped soften the sharp and cold expression he usually wore. The facade he put up for almost everyone he met. To John these rare smiles always reminded him of the sun breaking through the clouds and, as with the actual sun, he always felt just a bit warmer when it was directed at him. 

John was glad to see the rare expression forming on Sherlock's face now. He owed his recent academic success to Sherlock after all. He would have never been able to get anything higher than a 'D' on his own.   
And so he just stood there and positively beamed at Sherlock. His smile as wide as it had ever been, his teeth on full display. 

It seemed that Sherlock wasn't entirely immune to John's enthusiasm after all. It only took a couple of seconds before he cracked and the hint of a smile turned into an actual one and John felt as if he was basking in the sun once again as a warm and tingly feeling was forming in his stomach.   
He couldn't enjoy it for long though, because Sherlock quickly turned his head away, cleared his throat and schooled his features.   
John felt a small pang of regret as the sunlight of Sherlock's smile was dimmed again, but all too soon his good mood was back in place. 

'We have to celebrate this', he said as he handed the test to Sherlock who took the paper from him and started going over John's answers. 

'We're in a library.' he said once again. His eyes now firmly fixed on the sheet of paper currently held in front of his face. 

'We could leave the library.'

'I thought we were here to study.' Sherlock turned the paper over and started on the answers on the back.

'Come on, Sherlock. I've studied hard enough these last couple of weeks and it payed off! Thursday is supposed to be my afternoon off anyway. I used to go see a movie with the rugby guys on Thursday afternoon, or go bowling, or have coffee....I thought maybe we could....'

'I am not “hanging out” with the rugby team', Sherlock was still holding onto the paper, but John could practically hear the air quotes in his voice. 

'I didn't mean we'd hang out with them. I meant just us', as John said this Sherlock finally lifted his eyes from the paper and raised his eyebrows inquisitively.

John didn't know why, but now that Sherlock was actually looking at him he felt rather nervous and so he rubbed the back of his neck and avoided Sherlock's gaze.   
This had seemed like such a good plan. Was it a good plan? Sherlock had told him he didn't go out, hadn't he...but it was just coffee....everybody liked coffee.....right....

'John?' 

Oh, right...he was supposed to be talking.  
'I thought maybe we could go and have a coffee. I know a nice little place not too far from school. We've both deserved it. You really helped me out, Sherlock. I can't tell you how grateful I am.' 

'Yeah...I suppose....alright then.' Sherlock's smile had returned again and once again John felt himself warm up.

***************************************************************************************************

And so they found themselves sitting opposite to each other at a small window table in “The Busy Bean”.   
John was currently nursing something called a “morning glory”. It was big and had whipped cream with chocolate sprinkles and a caramel swirl on top. Sherlock was currently sipping a regular black coffee with two sugars. 

'How can you possibly drink that', he said. 

'It's my party. I can do whatever I want', John replied. His good mood was still firmly in place. 

'I thought it was my party too', Sherlock replied as he took a small sip from his own mug. It had a coffee bean dressed as a bee on it with 'The Busy Bean' written underneath in fancy lettering. 

'You could have gotten one too', John replied as he tried sipping his and was immediately rewarded with the abundance of whipped cream that graced his - for lack of a better word “drink” - going up his nose. 

Once again a soft smile was tugging at the corners of Sherlock's mouth as he shook his head, 'I'd rather live.'

They both smiled now and once again John felt warmer than he should be. 

For a couple of minutes they sat like that, drinking their coffee, John had ultimately given in and just used his spoon. The table they were seated at was rather small and so on occasion their knees would brush together underneath the table.   
John found he didn't mind all that much.   
It was nice. Cozy.   
He liked being this close to Sherlock.   
It gave him an opportunity to really look at him.   
There was just something about Sherlock that he found utterly fascinating. If you took all of Sherlock's features separately: the strange cupids bow of his mouth, the sharp angle of his nose, his somewhat long face, his high and sharp cheekbones, his black curls that had only been a wild mess the first time they met, Sherlock had taken to styling his hair ever since.... separately none of it sounded like it worked, but all put together it resulted in something John had a hard time looking away from.   
And so he found himself glancing at Sherlock over the rim of his cup as Sherlock looked out the window. He felt relaxed and at ease.

'This is nice', he finally said. Seemingly shaking Sherlock from some sort of daydream as he turned his head towards John and looked at him questioningly. 

'You and me....here', John continued, 'not grinding over impossible math questions....it's nice.' 

An inscrutable expression formed on Sherlock's face for just a second, but John caught it. It looked almost....sad.  
But it was gone before John could fully register it. Once again a soft smile took its place. 

'This is nice', Sherlock said. 

'I used to take Mary here when we first started dating', John said and cringed internally. The almost pained expression on Sherlock's face told him this was exactly the wrong thing to say.   
'You two really don't get along, do you?'

'I told you John, she's not right for you.' 

'I would just like to know what you're basing this on.'

Sherlock was silent for a couple of seconds, opened his mouth as if he was going to say something, closed it again and eventually settled on: 'you're just going to have to trust me on this one.' 

Now it was John's turn to roll his eyes.  
'Fine, don't tell me then.'

'I'll tell you when you get an 'A' on your next physics test.'

John just shook his head and smiled as once again he felt a warmth spread through his body.

**********************************************************************************************

They sat by the window watching people go by in companionable silence for a little while longer until John broke the silence once again:   
'So when was the last time you had a boyfriend?' 

'Where's this coming from all of a sudden?' Sherlock sounded slightly suspicious.

Where indeed was this coming from? John had no idea why he had asked what he had asked, but somehow he felt like this was something he needed to know.   
'Well, you know all about my love life. Seems only fair I know a little bit about yours.'

'Yes, but I never ask about your love life. I don't want to hear about your love life. You just tell me all about it anyway.'

'Yeah, but still.....'

Sherlock just sighed again and gave his signature eye roll. John realized he was starting to grow rather fond of Sherlock's eye roll. Like his strange collection of features it was something so particular to Sherlock. Something that shouldn't possibly evoke positive feelings, but somehow it did and upon seeing it once again John felt as if he was filled with warm light.

'It's been a while', Sherlock ended up saying. Apparently something about the casual setting of just the two of them in the coffee place made Sherlock more willing to share details about his personal life than usual.   
Not wanting to break the spell John just kept quiet and waited for Sherlock to continue talking and eventually he did: 

'I wasn't really very popular at my old school. Surely this comes as no surprise to you.'

Something about the way Sherlock said that rubbed John the wrong way. Over these last couple of weeks he had come to see Sherlock as an interesting, funny, on occasion kind and handsome young man. Someone he had come to see as a friend. And to hear someone talk him down like that, even if it was Sherlock himself, just didn't seem right. But before he could say anything about it Sherlock continued talking. 

'I had one boyfriend. A couple of years ago. As it turned out we wanted different things out of the relationship......he ended up breaking up with me', Sherlock actually looked sad and small now as he cast his eyes down and peered into his empty coffee mug. John wanted to physically hurt anyone who could make Sherlock feel this way.

'I'm sorry', he said, his voice soft, it was as if anything louder might actually break the fragile shape that sat opposite of him now. 

Sherlock smiled a wry smile devoid of humor. John hated seeing it on his face. He'd much rather see the smiles that Sherlock had been directing at him these last couple of weeks. The ones that made him feel all warm and fuzzy inside.  
And so he said:  
'He wasn't right for you. Trust me, I know these things.' 

Finally Sherlock looked up at him again. A soft smile once again forming on his lips and John not only felt himself fill up with sunlight again, but this time the light seemed to be moving inside of him too as it tickled him just underneath his skin. It was a nice feeling.   
And so he let out a carefree laugh. 

'Trust me, Sherlock', he said, 'I don't know who this wanker was, but you can do so much better.'

Once again Sherlock's smile turned sad, but only for a second.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been ages since I updated this story.  
> I felt like it needed an update.   
> Our boys need to get together.   
> Many thanks to anyone who's still reading this.


	5. Week 5 (part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is probably still not a date. 
> 
> There will be a part 3 to this week as well.....this is a long week.

They spent the rest of the afternoon together at the coffee-shop. Sherlock refilled his order twice while John didn't even seem to be able to finish his initial order and he had to sheepishly admit to Sherlock that he might have been right about the amount of sugar in it.  
'I doubt it'll taste as good coming back up', he said as he pushed his cup to the far end of the table. Even the smell of it seemed to be making his stomach feel all queasy.  
And so the rest of their time together John just ended up watching Sherlock drink his while they talked as the last of his own coffee slowly went cold in the bottom of his cup. 

And as time went on the most extraordinary thing happened. Slowly, but surely the walls Sherlock had built up so carefully around himself were coming down.  
There were small cracks at first where the light of an honest smile or genuine laugh would softly filter through. But as their conversation wore on and they seemed to become more and more comfortable in each others company the small cracks became larger and larger until John found himself peeking through actual holes at the surprisingly insecure, soft and beautiful personality that lay beyond. 

John was mesmerized. He felt like an explorer finding a beautiful garden in a forest of thorns. He had no idea if Sherlock was even aware he was showing his hand to such an extent. He usually kept close to himself, carrying an air of aloofness and superiority while any personal questions were met with short evasive answers that weren't much of an answer at all.  
Maybe it was the relaxed atmosphere that went with having coffee with a friend in the late afternoon, maybe it was just the fact that they weren't in the school library for once or maybe it was the fact that there was no real pressure to work on anything school related. The next test being weeks away still.  
John wasn't entirely sure, but he knew an opportunity when he saw one and so, gently, he tried to coax as much personal information out of Sherlock before the wall went up again. 

'You play the violin?' he found himself saying. Eyebrows raised and an incredulous smile on his face. A small bit of information Sherlock had decided to share with him after he himself had confessed to playing the clarinet for all but three weeks in a misguided attempt to try and woo a girl in the school band. Turned out she was not interested in the least and John had no talent to play the clarinet at all. The term “the sound a tone-deaf drowning cat would make while it's being simultaneously strangled” had been used to describe his skills.  
By his music teacher. 

Sherlock had smiled at this description. Actually smiled. Honestly smiled. And John could practically see the bricks falling from the wall as he did so as the light that lay behind it warmed his face and the inside of his chest. 

'I play the violin', Sherlock had said. Rather matter of factly. 

'You play the violin?'

Sherlock's reply had been a sort of half shrug as he took another sip of his coffee as he turned his face away to look out of the window for a moment. He seemed almost...embarrassed. Or shy. John found he quite liked this softer and slightly insecure version of Sherlock he was just now starting to get to know.  
'I bet you're really good', he said as his knee softly bumped against Sherlock's in an attempt to get his attention away from the window and back to him. He liked it when Sherlock looked at him. His eyes a different shade of blue-green every time. It was mesmerizing.  
Sherlock just smiled a sort of shy half-smile as only one corner of his mouth seemed to have the courage to lift up. 

'I suppose', his answer as he leaned back in his chair. 

'I need to hear this sometime.'

'The library is hardly the place for a concert, John.'

'You can serenade me somewhere else then.'

Once again a half-smile lit up Sherlock's face and John could not keep his eyes off of it.  
'Are you suggesting I invite you to come to my house?'

'Are you inviting me?'

A moment of silence passed before Sherlock answered.  
'No.'

'I was so close.'

'No you weren't.'

'I almost weaseled my way into your lair.'

'I do not have a “lair”, John. I'm not a vampire.'

'Are you sure you're not?'

'I'm out in daylight, aren't I?'

'Also you've not tried to drink my blood once.'

'Even if I was a vampire I wouldn't. There's too much sugar in it.'

The conversation was silly, but they both found themselves giggling and John silently patted himself on the back for coming up with the idea to take Sherlock here. This was the first time he'd seen Sherlock this loose, carefree and....happy. It was intoxicating and he found he wanted more of it. 

As their giggles quieted down a bit it seemed as if Sherlock was going to say something else, but just as he opened his mouth the door to the coffee-shop opened again. Someone else craving a late afternoon coffee no doubt. But as soon as Sherlock's gaze met this new customer he closed his mouth again abruptly. Swallowing the words still unspoken and John could practically see all his walls coming back up again as the light in his eyes dimmed and his lips formed a tight expression where once the warm and soft smiles had been.  
The coffee-shop immediately felt a couple of degrees colder.  
And so John turned himself around to see who it was that had just come in. When he recognized the familiar shape making it's way towards them the room around him seemed to grow colder still.  
Sebastian. 

*************************************

John's head was filled with a constant mantra of _please don't come over please don't come over please don't come over_.  
It did not seem to be working.  
As soon as Sebastian closed the door to “The Busy Bean” behind him he made a b-line straight for the table John and Sherlock were sitting at. Eyes firmly fixed on John. Their expression something between anger and amusement John could not quite decipher. 

“Hello, John”, the first thing he said when he reached them. Purposefully ignoring Sherlock. The jovial tone of his voice at complete odds with his icy stare that, at the moment, seemed to have frozen John to his seat.  
Out of the corners of his eyes John nervously glanced at his companion, but Sherlock had turned his face away and was staring out of the window stoically. Walls firmly back up again. Great. 

“Hello, Sebastian”, John tried. Maybe Sebastian would just leave after pleasantries were exchanged, he hoped against his better judgment. 

“I didn't know you were on a date”, Sebastian's tone was still light and friendly, but his eyes had turned practically murderous. John had never understood Sebastian. Or what his deal was. He seemed to just take joy in tormenting others. John especially. Seeking out conflict with him over the tiniest things. Like today. He could have just walked by, but he hadn't. Sebastian had made the conscious decision to come in, walk to their table and goad John on until he snapped. And up to this point today had been such a surprisingly nice day.  
John sighed.  
He decided he was not taking the bait. 

“Is this why you've been blowing off the team? To go on dates with your boyfriend? Need me to get a candle for you two? More romantic.”  
It was so transparent what Sebastian was trying to do. John would have laughed if he hadn't been so angry. 

“Sherlock's my tutor. He helps me study”, John said in reply. On the other side of the table Sherlock seemed to flinch, but the movement was small and gone before he could completely process what it was he had seen.  
Sebastian just pretended he hadn't heard what John had said.

“Does Mary know you're cheating on her with Mr. Freakshow here? Tell me, which one of you is “the girl” I bet it's you, isn't it?”

John had definitely had enough. He'd been in trouble for fighting a couple of times at his previous school. Right after his father had died. His mother had given him hell for it. She had dragged him to numerous therapists. Convinced that there was something wrong with him. Something that needed fixing.  
John hadn't needed fixing. He had been broken. He was still broken. But it was a kind of broken that didn't need fixing. Was impossible to fix. What he had needed was to know it was alright to feel the way he felt.  
Sad.  
Mad.  
Incredibly angry.  
At anyone and everything. At the universe. At the unfairness of it all. At himself.  
Over time all this anger had started to feel like a part of him. Like it was him. A new identity to replace the label that just said “ _boy with dead father_ "  
And so he had fought and alienated anyone who so much as tried to feel sorry for him until his mother finally saw sense and made him switch schools.  
Things had been better at this new school. Keeping his fathers death a secret he had just been “ _John_ ” and recently “ _John. Rugby captain_ ". Up to this point he had not been in any fights outside of the rugby field. But sitting at the table in the small coffee-shop, looking up at Sebastian's fake smile he felt his reserve crumble.  
He put on a devilish smile of his own as his muscles tensed and his hands seemed to turn into fists all on their own. John Watson might have been in many fights, but he had won every single one of them. 

But just as he was about to get up and punch Sebastian in such a way that breathing through his nose would be physically impossible for at least a couple of weeks Sherlock abruptly got up from his seat and, without saying a word, left. 

All John could do was stare as the door closed behind him with a soft thud. 

“Does that mean he's breaking up with you?”  
Sebastian just did not know when to stop. 

John, however was no longer spoiling for a fight. All the anger that had flooded him just moments before had now been replaced by concern. He had never seen Sherlock shy away from a confrontation before.  
And so, without saying a word, he got up as well and left. Leaving a very confused Sebastian behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to anyone who is still reading this.


	6. Week 5 (part 3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final part for week 5.

If Sebastian said anything as John left he didn't hear it. He was far too busy worrying about Sherlock's uncharacteristic departure and trying to catch up with him.   
As it turned out John did not need to worry for long. It only took a turn around the next corner to find Sherlock and almost physically bump in to him. 

Sherlock was leaning against the wall of a closed down bank building. Shoulders slightly hunched, coat collar turned up and the walls around his personality perfectly back in place. He was smoking a cigarette.

“You smoke?”   
John cringed a little internally. Stating things that were blatantly obvious was something Sherlock absolutely detested, but for some reason it was the only thing that came to his mind at that moment. 

“Yes, I smoke! Gods above. You must be the least observant person in the world.”  
Sherlock took a long drag of his cigarette before tossing it on the ground, only half of it had been smoked John noticed, not bothering to extinguish its smoking remains. 

“I've never seen you smoke before”, he said as he watched the last trails rise from the cigarette remains into the air before it died down of it's own accord. 

“Can't really smoke in a library.”

After a couple of moments where Sherlock seemed to avoid eye-contact at all costs John hazarded:   
“I've never seen you bolt like that before either.”

For a moment he thought Sherlock would leave him behind again. His shoulders were tense and the fingers of his right hand clenched and unclenched themselves a couple of times. Subconsciously missing the reassuring weight of the cigarette perhaps.   
But then Sherlock just sighed and as the tension seemed to leave his body with it it almost seemed as if he himself grew minutely shorter in the process too. 

“I'm not good at this, John. These casual social interactions”, he ended up saying and the tone of his voice almost made John wish he hadn't asked anything at all. He sounded dejected. Almost defeated. 

Both of them were quiet for a while again. John was suddenly reminded of what the headmaster had said to him. Before he had even met Sherlock. At the moment he had done his very best not to listen to the man and forget everything he had heard shortly after, but somehow this bit of information seemed to still be tucked away in his subconscious somewhere. Choosing this moment to rise to the surface once again. 

_he has very few friends_

_you might help him on a social level_

Did Sherlock even have friends? John had never seen him with anyone else besides him. Surely he knew other people? He had seemed to know Mary already before meeting John.....you could hardly call them friends though.   
John was startled from his musings when Sherlock unexpectedly spoke again:

“What are we?” He asked. 

For a second John didn't know how to answer, a thousand and one possibilities swimming through his mind, but then Sherlock decided to elaborate a bit further. Making coming up with the right answer much easier:

“Are we friends?” he asked. A slight hint of hope and desperation in his baritone voice that he was unable to conceal. 

“I'd like to think we are.” No hesitation on John's part. 

“That's not what you told Sebastian.”

Ah.

_Sherlock's my tutor. He helps me study_

That's what he had said. 

Trust sherlock to over-analyze a simple remark to the school bully. 

“It's none of his business.” John replied. 

“Is it a secret?”

There was no sarcasm in Sherlock's question. The look directed at John that accompanied it honest and open. He genuinely wanted to know. John could feel his heart break a little as he was reminded of Sherlock telling him about his ex-boyfriend. The one who wanted _”different things”_ out of the relationship. Who broke up with Sherlock and to this day had enough power over him to make him look sad and small.   
Had he wanted to keep their relationship a secret? John would ask Sherlock another time. When his friend felt relaxed, open and happy once more. Maybe they'd go out for coffee again.   
Of course their friendship wasn't a secret.   
But John was not quite sure how to put his sentiment towards Sherlock into words so he ended up stammering through his reply: 

“No....I mean.....He wouldn't understand.”

“Neither do I.” 

And was that really the heart of the matter? Was Sherlock so unused to having a friend that he didn't know how to handle having one?   
Up to this point he had seemed so sure of himself. Arrogant even at some moments. But by now John was well aware this was just the version of himself Sherlock wanted people to see. The version he used to keep people away. Not for the first time he wondered why Sherlock had changed schools. John had asked him a couple of times , but he had never gotten a straight answer.   
It must not have been easy being an openly gay teenager with bad social skills at high-school. You get labeled quite easily.   
Not for the first time John felt a strange sort of connection with Sherlock. You could either keep people away with with your fists or by building up an abrasive personality that worked as a natural repellent.   
In the end they were not so different. Sherlock and him.

But before he was able to voice any of his thoughts to Sherlock his phone rang. A quick glance at the screen to see who it was made his blood run cold. 

“Shit...it's my mom.....I should have been home by now.”

Sherlock gave him a weak smile.  
“We should probably both be heading home.”

“Will you be alright.”

Another weak smile.  
“I'm always alright.”

Before John could say anything else Sherlock was already walking away.

“See you next Thursday, yeah?” He shouted after him. 

Sherlock just waved as he lit another cigarette.

****************************************************************

By the time John finally got home he was over an hour late. His mother was livid.   
John was pretty sure even fire-breathing dragons would fear his mother when she got truly angry.   
He endured her wrath for as long as he could and then gingerly made his way upstairs to his room.   
He felt tense and on edge. Partly because of his mother's fiery tirade, but also because of the events of that afternoon.   
He felt there had been a lot of things left unsaid. Left hanging between them in the air of the small coffee-shop.   
Maybe one of them would have finally said something had Sebastian not come along, but, honestly, John wasn't even sure what that “something” was.   
He wasn't even sure if Sherlock would be at the library next Thursday or not. He supposed he would be there.....surely he would be there.....but what if he wasn't...............why was it even so important to John for Sherlock to be there? 

He groaned, flopped down on his belly on his bed and buried his face in his pillow. Maybe if he tried to sleep......

************************************************************

His bedside alarm-clock read 1:00 am. John was still not asleep. Somehow he could not stop his mind from racing. Trying to find answers while the questions themselves weren't even all that clear to him.   
He had heard his mother go to bed a couple of hours ago.   
He could sneak downstairs and get something to eat. A midnight snack always seemed to make him feel better. 

*************************************************  
There was a lot of food in the fridge, but none of it seemed particularly appetizing to John. His mother had found some sort of health-food forum on the Internet and now all she seemed to buy was carrots, tomatoes, broccoli and some kind of vegetable with large green leaves John was pretty sure he had never seen before. 

John sighed, closed the door and snuck back upstairs. Carefully avoiding the creaky floorboard in the hallway so as not to wake up his mother.   
_Best not to wake the dragon_ he thought to himself and only just managed to suppress a giggle.   
Back in his room he flopped down on his bed unceremoniously once more. There was one more thing he could try to help him sleep. If his mother hadn't found it during one of her thorough checks of his room she disguised as “cleaning sessions”.   
He was pretty sure she hadn't though. He would have most certainly heard about it if she had. Loudly. With a lot of curse-words and a month of being grounded at least. 

In the dark of his bedroom John knelt next to his bed. His left arm thrust underneath. The fingers of his hand feeling around for what he had hidden there after a party a while back. Maybe it wasn't there after all...... but then his fingers made contact with the cool aluminum of a beer can and, yes, it was in fact still there. 

And so John found himself well after 1 am sitting on his bed in the dark, sipping beer, trying his best not to feel sorry for himself. 

When it came to alcohol however, John was a complete lightweight. The fact that he had hardly eaten all day surely didn't help the situation either. And so one can was really all it took to make him feel slightly dizzy, giddy and very bad at making good decisions. 

So, in the end he ended up doing what he always did when his inhibitions and decision making skills were both way down: he decided to call Mary. Blatantly ignoring the very inappropriate hour in his slightly intoxicated state. 

As he was scrolling through his list of contacts though, trying to remember where in the alphabet exactly the letter “M” was situated he came across a contact he didn't recognize: 

S.H.

There was only one person in the world that John knew with those initials. 

_Sherlock Holmes_

In another error in judgment he decided to call this number instead. 

*****************************************************

After only two rings Sherlock picked up. Not sleeping either as it would seem. 

“Hello?”   
The baritone of his voice seemed significantly deeper in the dark of John's bedroom and he silently wished he'd left at least a small light on. The curt greeting seemed to settle in his stomach along with the beer and made him feel queasy for a second. John swallowed.   
“Sherlock?” his reply. As he tried to keep his voice as quiet as possible. If he did manage to wake his mother after all he would never hear the end of it. 

“John?” he could practically hear the eye-roll that accompanied his name. He couldn't help but smile. “Why are you calling me at.......1 am?”

“Why is your number in my phone?”

“Because I put it there.”

“Why?”

A moment of silence followed where he was pretty sure Sherlock was rolling his eyes again. John couldn't help but smile again as the beer in his belly seemed to warm his insides.

“So you could reach me if you needed help with your classes. Are you going to answer “why” to everything I say?”

“Why didn't you tell me you put it in there.”

This time Sherlock just sighed.  
“Apparently you are. How drunk are you, John?”

John just giggled. Trust Sherlock to figure it out. He was glad to hear that the sadness and uncertainty that had hung around Sherlock that afternoon had disappeared. Once again Sherlock seemed relaxed, at ease, open....like he had been as they had sat opposite each other at the small table. Their knees brushing together on occasion as neither of them minded.   
For some reason John was reminded of his sister. Who, after finally realizing she was a lesbian, had come out to their mother only to have their mother send her to a strict boarding school at the other side of the country. On the very rare occasions where his sister was allowed to visit home she always seemed a bit unsure, guard and walls firmly up. Hiding away her true feelings and true personality. Only when she was completely at ease, usually when she and John were alone together she would let her guard down again and to John it always felt like the sun breaking through the clouds. She reminded him of Sherlock so much.  
So in his inebriated state he failed to directly answer Sherlock's question and just said:

“You remind me of my sister.”

“I remind you of a woman?”

“What?....No!.....No?......Nooooo....walls!” he ended up saying. As if that explained anything. 

At that point he could have sworn he actually heard Sherlock's next eye-roll, but he definitely heard a fond smile as his friend replied:  
“you're a mess of a person, John Watson.” 

Once again the beer warmed his insides, melting down any shred of inhibitions he still had left.   
“You know you like it”, he replied. Maybe that had come out a little bit more flirty than he had intended it to be. Usually when he found himself in this state he would have Mary on the other end. He just had his wires crossed. No big deal. 

Nothing but silence on the other end of the line. 

“Sherlock? Are you still there?”

“Yes”

“I might have had one beer too many”

“How many beers did you drink?”

“One.”

They both laughed. The tone of Sherlock's baritone once again warm and, for lack of a better word, fond. 

“I do consider us to be friends, Sherlock”, somehow he felt it had to be said out loud once again. 

“That's......good.”

This time John remained silent. The beer seemingly having moved from his stomach to his head. Making his thoughts foggy and his eyelids droopy.   
Eventually Sherlock continued speaking. His voice surprisingly soft:  
“So do I.”

John's eyes were completely closed now. He figured he could sleep like this. 

“John? Did you fall asleep?”

All of a sudden his eyes shot open again. The beer was definitely back in his stomach, but it was making a valiant effort to rise up again.   
“I'm going to throw up.”

Sherlock gave a small chuckle that felt warm and did nothing to settle John's stomach. 

“Goodnight, John”. 

“Goodnight, Sherlock.”

And after hanging up his phone, throwing it frantically to the side before attempting a mad dash to the bathroom and making it there just in time, his mother would kill him if she were to find a trail of beer scented vomit down the hallway, John actually managed to sleep better than he had done in a very long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading once again.   
> I'm sorry. Drunk John is my weakness. He had to be in here somehow.


	7. Week 6 (part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why does John keep getting drunk....

John was standing on the sidewalk of some street in the city. It was Saturday, just a little after midnight and, apart from the odd stray cat, he seemed to be completely alone. He was holding his phone in his hand. His eyes were on the screen as he scrolled through his list of contacts. A look on his face somewhere between reservation, frustration and careful determination.

He had been going back and forth on calling Sherlock for the last 10 minutes.   
He wanted to call Sherlock, he could surely use his help right now, but there was a grand total of three things holding him back. 

The first thing that came to mind was the specific time of day. Sure, Sherlock had almost immediately picked up last time he had called him well after the time that normal people had gone to bed, but that didn't mean Sherlock would not mind a call this time around. 

The second thing holding him back was the fact that, very much like the last time as well, he also might be slightly drunk again. 

He didn't remember much from the previous time he had called Sherlock and Sherlock, perhaps in an attempt to spare John the embarrassment although, knowing sherlock, he very much doubted that was the case, had decided not to talk about their phone-call at all the next time they had met for their weekly study session.   
John, in return, had not dared to ask about it. He knew how he got when he was drunk. Mary had told him on several occasions how silly, stupid and sometimes down-right flirty he got when he had had a couple of drinks too many.  
He shuddered at the thought of what he might have said to Sherlock uninhibited by the alcohol flowing through his veins and the private darkness of his own bedroom after midnight. 

He was also shuddering because he did not have his coat with him and so the chilly breeze that swept along the corners of the city as the temperature dropped significantly at night had free range beneath the hem of his shirt.   
But that wasn't his fault really.   
Not entirely anyway. 

And then there was reason number three.   
The reason he even was out here, cold, slightly drunk and totally alone was because he had decided to go to a party Sherlock had warned him not to go to.   
He groaned. His breath forming a small white puff-cloud against the dark night sky.   
Why did Sherlock always have to be right. 

***************************************  
 _The previous Thursday_

“So Michael from rugby is having a party this weekend.”

“I thought we were here to study.”  
Sherlock didn't even look up from his book when he gave his reply to the question John hadn't exactly asked, but they both knew what he had been aiming at. 

“It might be fun to hang out with some people you don't know yet.”  
John had thought long and hard about asking Sherlock to come with him to this party. He knew how Sherlock felt about parties and about the people who went to them. But after finding out he was quite probably Sherlock's only friend his heart had broken just a little bit and he had vowed to himself to try and make his other friends see how amazing Sherlock actually was once you got to know him.   
He had come to the conclusion that a party would be the perfect location for this.  
With inhibitions lowered people would be far more willing to accept someone they didn't know yet in their midst.   
He also secretly was dying to know what a “drunk Sherlock” would be like and whether he was a good dancer or not. He had to be with that sleek build of his and those long elegant limbs.   
A little bit too late he realized he was staring. Luckily Sherlock had not bothered to look up from his book even once. 

“I know what you're trying to do, John and I appreciate it, but it is also completely moronic. I don't need any more friends and if I did want more friends I would certainly not go looking for them amongst your rugby palls. To be perfectly honest I am still quite baffled as to how my friendship with you has even been able to happen. It defies all logic and reason.”

“Well ta for that.”

The words were slightly insulting, but there was no real bite to them. There was a soft smile stretching out Sherlock's lips as he glanced over the edge of his book. Trying to see what kind of reaction he was getting out of John.   
John just smiled back.   
He was just grateful Sherlock had chosen not to bring up his drunken phone-call from the week before. Who knows what kind of awful and stupid things he had said in his inebriated state. He probably deserved every barb Sherlock threw at him today. 

“Well, I am going”, John added, 'and so are Roger and Jack. You might like them.”

“Jack's going?”

The sudden interest with which Sherlock responded to Jack's name took John by surprise. There was also a feeling, way at the back of his mind that felt just a little bit like jealousy. Of course it couldn't be jealousy. That would be stupid. He wanted Sherlock to make other friends. That's what this was all about.   
Slightly confused he just nodded. 

'Well, this just strengthens my resolve not to go then.... and you probably shouldn't go either.”

“Wait. You know Jack?”

“I know of him. You're taking Mary, right?”

“Of course.”

“This can only mean trouble. I'd stay home if I were you.”

“Are you just trying to weasel your way out of having to go with me?”

“On to chapter 3, John.”

“what....”

“We are here to study physics right?”

*****************************************************

_present:_

And the most annoying thing had been that Sherlock had been right. Jack and Mary together had apparently been bad news. Not so much for them, but more so for John when he found them together in the garden. Kissing.   
They had had a terrible row and Mary had stormed off. He had gone after her and they had ended up taking a taxi together, but halfway through the ride Mary had order the driver to stop the car and she had, more or less, kicked him out.  
Somewhere. In the middle of the city. Leaving his coat with his wallet behind in the taxi.   
He was just lucky to still have his phone with him. 

Once again he stared at Sherlock's initials in his contact list. 

“Ah, fuck it”, he said to himself, pressed the call button and, with only a slight tremble, pressed the phone to his ear. 

The phone rang once.....twice.....and then:   
“John?”

“Hey, Sherlock. Are you still awake?”

An aggravated sigh the only answer he got from the other side.   
Great start.   
Filled with liquid courage he decided to just get to the point and not beat around the bush. 

“I need your help.”

Another sigh was the response followed by:   
“I specifically warned you about going to that party.”

“I know, I know, but it did start out fun. There were drinks and dancing.....   
But then Mary and I had a bit of a row and she kicked me out of taxi and now I'm alone somewhere in the city and she has my wallet.”

Sherlock did not reply right away.   
He remained silent for so long that John was starting to wonder if perhaps he had lost the connection, but just as he was about to take the phone away from his ear and check the screen Sherlock spoke again:

“Can't you call one of your rugby buddies?”

“I called Greg.......he laughed and then hung up on me.”

“Oh for the love of.......where are you? Exactly?”

“Thank you, Sherlock.”

*********************************************

It took Sherlock about 30 minutes to get to where John was. His hands thrust into the pockets of his coat, a blue scarf wrapped tightly around his neck, his posture as tall, straight and elegant as always. Only the state of disarray of his curls gave away the fact that he might actually have been sleeping when John called him.   
John immediately felt a little less cold at the sight of him and he couldn't help but smile.   
An answering smile formed on Sherlock's face when he caught sight of John, leaned against a lamppost. Slightly unsteady on his own two feet. 

“You're an absolute mess, John Watson.”

“You know you like it.”

“Come on, we're taking the bus.”

******************************************

Inside the bus the wind at least wasn't tormenting him anymore, but he was still cold. And tired. And a small bit drunk. But he did feel like he was sobering up a little bit. Must have been all that cold air blasting at him from all angles. He seriously hoped he wasn't getting ill. He'd send his doctors bill to Mary and Jack.   
Quietly John chuckled to himself. 

“We should be at the stop closest to your house in about 20 minutes.”  
Seated side by side the baritone of Sherlock's voice could be felt just as much as heard and John found himself turning towards it like a cat towards a nice warm fire-place.

“You know where I live?”

“Problem?”

“Nah, 's fine....somehow I'm not surprised.”

Although he could not hear it, John was pretty sure Sherlock chuckled then because he could feel the vibration of it all along the side of him that was pressed against his friend.   
Sherlock was nice and warm. And he smelled nice too.   
John found himself leaning against his friend more and more as his eyes started to slide shut and his breath evened out.   
The doors of the bus opened and closed to let another late night traveler in and as the gust of cold air pushed forward by the closing doors hit him John shivered. 

“John?” Sherlock's voice was surprisingly soft even though John's ear was almost pressed against his shoulder. The sound somehow reminded him of a purring panther and he couldn't help but smile as the rumble of it seemed to warm him up again instantly. 

“Hmmmm?” the only reply he gave. Not even bothering to open his eyes.

“Where's your coat?” Sherlock's voice remained just as soft.

“Mary has it.”

“Oh for God's sake....”  
Gently Sherlock pushed him away from his shoulder and involuntarily John shivered again as the warm body of his friend left him. Sherlock got up carefully. Making sure he did not fall over in the moving bus and started taking off his coat. Underneath he was wearing the same purple shirt John had seen him wearing the second time they met at the library. It was a good look on him he thought, somewhere through the haze of his sleepy and drunken mind. 

Once Sherlock had removed his coat he gently draped it over John's shoulders. Enveloping him with warmth and that sweet scent that was purely Sherlock.   
Carefully Sherlock sat down again and without hesitation John put his head back on his shoulder. Sherlock didn't seem to mind. 

“Won't you get cold now?” he asked. Slurring the words. Barely able to keep his eyes open. 

“I'm not the one who spent over an hour out in the cold, drunk, without my coat on.” 

“I'm not that drunk.”

“Well, you're the expert.”

John just smiled at this. He wished Sherlock would continue talking. When he spoke the rumble of his voice could be felt moving through his body now that they were pressed together so closely and it made him feel all kinds of nice.   
But Sherlock seemed to be done with talking for the moment and his own eyes were starting to close again. Making it hard for him to come up with interesting topics of conversation. 

He could feel himself starting to fall asleep, but right before he lost consciousness completely he managed to mumble out another: “thank you, Sherlock.”

However soft and slurred he had spoken, it appeared that Sherlock had still been able to hear him over the monotone drone and hiss of the bus because John felt himself drift away to the rumble of a deep and almost affectionate:   
“You're very welcome, John.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And why do I keep writing about these idiots?
> 
>  
> 
> I had some time to write today. I might not get so lucky the rest of the week so I figured I'd put down some ideas and it ended up a chapter.   
> Oh well.   
> What can you do. 
> 
> As always: thank you so much for reading. 
> 
> Not beta'd. All faults, and I mean _all_ of them, are purely my own.


	8. Week 6 (part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An epiphany

In the end it took the bus about 22 minutes to reach the stop around the corner of John's house.  
He had noticed fairly little of the trip.  
Enveloped by the warmth of Sherlock's coat and the smell of his aftershave (he really should ask him which scent he used someday) firmly nestled against his friend's shoulder as they sat side by side on the narrow plastic bus seats John found himself drifting in and out of consciousness continuously.  
His eyes kept closing on him as alcohol induced dreams swam through his mind.  
At one point the bus had to make a sudden stop and as he was jolted awake as he lurched forward, for a second, his dream mixed with reality and he was convinced he and Sherlock were pirates on a ship tossed around on mighty waves as a storm plagued the ocean.  
John couldn't help but giggle before he drifted back to sleep. The last conscious thing he noticed before they reached their final destination were Sherlock's fingers gently brushing his shoulder as he wrapped his arm around him to keep him from falling over at the next sudden stop. 

*********************************

They were standing outside of the house where John lived with his mother.  
The night sky was dark as only a few stars could be seen and the moon kept hiding behind the clouds.  
The air was cold and damp as it seemed to physically cling to their skin and John shivered as he reluctantly removed Sherlock's coat from his shoulders.

“I suppose I should give this back”, he said as he turned the warm and heavy fabric over in his hands. Avoiding Sherlock's gaze for some reason he couldn't quite figure out. 

“Will you be alright?”

John didn't know how to answer.  
His eyes drifted towards the house. None of the lights were on. Making the windows seem like large black eyes, staring back at him.  
His mother had probably gone to bed hours ago.  
Well, at least she wouldn't be able to chastise him about coming home inebriated, without his coat or wallet after having broken up with Mary.  
His mother really liked Mary. 

God....Mary....

They had broken up again, hadn't they?  
It felt different this time. It felt more final. He felt as if he was dreaming, but also more awake then he had ever been at the same time.  
Probably because of the alcohol....definitely the alcohol. 

“John?”

Finally he turned his face towards his friend. Sherlock had put his coat on again. On his face a slightly concerned expression.  
It made him look....younger.....more...innocent?  
Was that the word?  
His curls still in a wild array on top of his head. John figured Sherlock had definitely already been in bed when he called him.  
He looked back at the silent house again with its soulless black window-eyes and then back to Sherlock.  
The moon had drifted from behind the clouds and its light cast a soft and otherworldly glow on his face. Making his eyes glimmer like stars and his already sharp features stand out in an absolutely mesmerizing way.  
John made a decision. 

“Would you like to come in?” he said.

The look on Sherlock's face turned into something resembling a worried frown. 

“I'm just not ready to be alone yet tonight”, he clarified, “I know it's late and you've already helped me out immensely and if you'd rather.....”

“Alright.”

The answer had been soft but resolute. Leaving no room for doubt.  
And so John just nodded and started leading the way across the driveway to the front door.  
But just as they were about to reach the door one of the window-eyes seemed to blink open as a light in the kitchen was turned on. 

“Shit”, John hissed under his breath, “that's my mom....I thought she was asleep.....she can't see you come in with me. She'll kill me...and you.....she'll probably kill me twice for good measure....”

He was looking at Sherlock apologetically as panic rose inside of him. Sherlock had no idea what his mother was capable of. John did. He shuddered at the thought. 

Sherlock, however was not looking at him. He was looking up at the house. The brickwork, the windowsills, the trees that grew in the small yard in front of it. 

“Which room is yours?” the question he finally settled on. 

John silently pointed to one of the upstairs bedrooms. 

“Leave your window open. I'll be up there in about 15 minutes.”

*******************************************

And so, 15 minutes later, after having given a quick explanation to his mother and quickly making his way up the stairs and into his room, John found himself helping Sherlock climb through his bedroom window. All the while trying his very best not to giggle. 

They were both a little out of breath when Sherlock finally toppled inside and lay softly chuckling on his back on John's bedroom floor. 

“That is probably one of the weirdest things I've ever done”, John said. No longer able to suppress his giggles.

“Says the man who got stranded at the side of the road, drunk, in the middle of the night without his coat or wallet”, Sherlock replied.

“Touché. Come on let me help you up.”

Pulling Sherlock on his feet from his supine position on the floor turned out to be something he was still a little bit too drunk for. More giggling ensued as John just ended up falling on top of Sherlock and in the end they just settled for sitting side by side on the floor with their backs against John's bed. Sherlock's coat had been hung up on one of the bed posts. 

A companionable silence fell over them for a couple of minutes. Both of them catching their breaths as their shoulders brushed together much as they had done in the bus.  
It was John who ended up speaking first:

“I really appreciate this, Sherlock. Thank you.”

“It's quite alright..... but I do seem to recall I warned you about this specific party.”  
There was a soft smile around Sherlock's lips again as he glanced at John from underneath his messy fringe playfully. There were leaves stuck in his hair now as well. Probably a remnant from his climb up the side of the house. John barely resisted the urge to brush them away. 

Instead he giggled again as he let his head fall back to rest on the bed as he stared up at the ceiling hidden away in the darkness. He had not dared to turn on a light with his mother on patrol. The only form of illumination they had was the light of the moon as it filtered in through the window. 

Somehow his mind wandered back to the last time he had been talking to Sherlock so late at night. In the darkness of his own bedroom  
Granted, that had been over the phone, but he was reminded of what he had told sherlock then:

_You remind me of my sister_

It was what he had said, but it had not been what he had meant. How much he liked Sherlock when he was truly himself. Like this. Pressed close together in the darkness of his bedroom. Completely at ease. Smiling. 

“My sister is gay”, he ended up saying. It was meant as some form of clarification, but apparently he was still a bit drunk and the words came out all jumbled up once again.

“That's not how it works John. You can't set me up with a gay woman.”

There was still a mischievous smile on Sherlock's face and John returned it as he shook his head. 

“I mean”, he tried to continue, but he wasn't sure what he wanted to say anymore, “I mean...”, he tried again, “I haven't seen her in so long.”

“I'm....sorry.” Sherlock seemed to be guessing at what the appropriate response to this piece of information should be. It was fine. It was all fine.  
John decided to just continue talking:

“When she came out my mom got so mad..... she kicked her out of the house.... off to some strict boarding school. She hardly ever talks about her anymore. As if she doesn't exist..... as if she's not......I don't know.”

Sherlock did not reply this time. The warmth of his shoulder a reassuring pressure against John's side and once again he felt the urge to rest his head on it. He only hesitated for a second before he tilted his head slightly and the soft fabric of Sherlock's shirt was once again pressed against his cheek. He closed his eyes and for a moment Sherlock seemed to be holding his breath.  
Soon enough however the gradual rise and fall of his chest started up again and John let himself drift away on the rhythm for a moment or two.

It was the baritone of Sherlock's voice cutting through the darkness like a tiger on the prowl that eventually prevented him from falling asleep again. 

“Why are you telling me this, John?”

The words were spoken softly, but they hung heavy and loud in the dark privacy of his bedroom.  
Apparently tonight was a night filled with questions that had no answer and so he asked another question instead: 

“Am I your only friend?”

“Does it matter?”

“No...it's just....you deserve so much more.”

He felt Sherlock's body tense beneath his cheek. In that moment he reminded him of a wild cat. Difficult to get close to, easy to flee, make one wrong move and they bolt.  
He dared not open his eyes.  
He just hoped Sherlock would relax again and continue talking.  
And eventually he did: 

“I don't make friends easily.”

This time John did open his eyes, but only to raise his eyebrows and look up at his friend's face. He needed to see what kind of expression his sharp features were forming. The sadness he saw there almost broke his heart. 

“They just don't know you like I do”, he tried. 

Sherlock laughed. But it wasn't the soft and easy chuckle from before. It was a harsh and cold thing that made John shiver.

“There's still a lot you don't know about me.” he ended up saying. The words just as cold and sharp as the laugh. 

“Like what?” 

“Why people usually don't like me.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“I have this thing....”

“Everybody has a thing.”

“John.....”

“Sorry. Continue”. 

“I have this thing where I look at people and I just know stuff.....about them....”

“Are you a psychic?” 

Sherlock laughed again and this time the sound wasn't quite as cold as a little warm fondness was seeping through. 

“No”, he said, shaking his head, “I am not a psychic.”

“Then what?”

“I know your father died.”

Once again the words cut through the darkness uncomfortably as they seemed to remain where Sherlock had dropped them. Smothering John like a dark shroud. This time it was his turn to tense up. 

“I'm sorry, John....I shouldn't have...I should go....I.....”

At his side Sherlock was moving. Forcing John to lift his head from its resting place on his  
friend's shoulder.  
He felt a range of emotions. Shock, sadness as older and happier memories came flooding back to the surface, but......this time around, to his own surprise, there was no anger there.  
And so he placed his own hand firmly on Sherlock's arm. Stopping him from getting up and leaving.  
Sherlock, in turn, was trying to avoid his eyes at all costs.

“How?” all John ended up saying.  
_How did you know?_ being what he had meant.  
_How did you figure out my darkest secret and yet you still treated me as if I was a person. As if I was not made of glass. Breakable and fragile. As if I could hold my own. How?_

For a moment it seemed as if Sherlock was not going to answer, but in the darkness a look of stern resolve could be seen settling on his features as he rattled of his answer in the black void around them. Eyes fixed unblinking at the opposite wall hiding unseen in the night: 

“It was fairly simple really. You only ever talk about your mother. Never your father. Could just be an absentee father then. Left at birth. But you do possess certain skills taught to you by a male figure in your life. Your prowess at rugby for example. Your mother never comes to any of your games so it can't be her having taken over the role of the father-figure. Can't be another male relative, because you would talk about them. So your father has been around for a little while at least before he abruptly left. A father you have fond memories of? Why would you not speak about him? There is trauma there.  
He didn't cheat on your mother or something banal like that, because Greg's dad cheated and left and whenever he talks about that you never react. Nothing you're familiar with then. So what's left? A traumatic experience that robbed you from a well loved father at an age when you were old enough to realize what was going on and has left emotional scars. So deducing from all of that: I concluded he died.”

The last of Sherlock's words hung heavy in the small bedroom and then seemed to drop like lead. For a moment they felt like a terrible weight on John's shoulders dragging him down, but then....they moved on.....falling to the floor....and away.  
Actually making him feel lighter....relieved......good?  
Definitely good. It was good to have someone he trusted know and yet still not think differently of him.  
The clinical and deductive reasoning Sherlock had used to lay his past bare was very much like the way he solved math problems. There was no sentiment. There was just the truth. Unbiased by emotions and personal perspective. It was a new viewpoint that opened a path he had, up till now, completely missed. A path that perhaps led to some form of healing. 

Once again Sherlock was trying to get up. Having drawn another set of conclusions from the silence that had followed his monologue. Wrong ones this time. 

“Wait!”, John said. A little bit too loud and for a moment he was afraid his mother would come barging in. But when after a tense moment of silence nothing of the sort happened he just got up and placed himself in between Sherlock and the window he was, no doubt, planning to climb out again. 

“That”, he said, “was amazing.”

Sherlock seemed to be completely taken aback.  
“What?” he stammered as his usual eloquence escaped him. 

“That was amazing. Brilliant.”

“Well...that's not what people usually say.”

“What do they usually say.”

“Well....it's not so much what they say as their attempts to beat me up.”

John actually started giggling again and after a couple of seconds of just staring at him with a very confused look on his face Sherlock joined in. 

*********************************

They ended up sitting side by side with their backs against the bed again. John's head resting on Sherlock's shoulder. He was tired, still somewhat drunk and it just felt right.  
He had his eyes closed once again. They were both still trying to catch their breath from their mutual laughing fit combined with a lot of shushing because it was the middle of the night and John's mother tended to be a light sleeper. 

“Sherlock?”

“Mmmmm”  
Not only did the sound of Sherlock's voice rumble through his own chest, but it seemed to make it's way into John's as well where it made itself a home and filled it with warmth. He smiled contented. 

“You're not going to tell anyone about my dad are you?”

“Why would I do that?”

“Thank you.”

“You keep saying that.”  
There was so much warmth in the words that John thought he actually preferred them to a blanket. He could sleep like this. He was falling asleep.  
But still he opened his eyes just a sliver and glanced upwards to Sherlock's face. He had his eyes closed as well. A fond and warm smile was on his lips. His black curls now framing his face in ringlets reminding John of one of those Italian statues. And all of a sudden he was filled with a new warmth. One he had not associated with Sherlock before.  
Although....not consciously at least. It was a warmth that started in his chest, but quickly moved to his lower abdomen.  
He was all too aware of Sherlock's warm shoulder beneath his cheek. The smell that was so decidedly him filling his nose and mind. Their arms and legs pressed together and somehow, where their arms were touching, their hands also seemed to have found each other. Their fingers gently interlaced. 

John felt like he was having some sort of epiphany. 

_You remind me of my sister_ he thought. 

_Walls_ he thought. 

_You deserve so much more_ he thought. 

_Amazing._

_Brilliant_

Sherlock's lips formed a soft curve as the moonlight danced over them and John wondered what they would feel like underneath his own.  
What the inside of his mouth would taste like. The texture of his tongue.....usually only occupied in giving clever retorts and dealing out sharp wit.  
Would Sherlock keep his eyes open?  
Would those long, angel-like eyelashes flutter shut?  
Would he moan?  
What would those silken curls feel like as he ran his fingers gently through them? 

_My sister is gay_ he heard himself say in a recent memory.  
_When she came out my mom got so mad..... she kicked her out of the house_  
He was falling asleep.  
He was also thinking about kissing Sherlock Holmes. 

He wasn't gay. 

Gay got you kicked out of the house.  
Gay was very, very bad. 

But Sherlock wasn't bad. Sherlock was good.  
Sherlock was brilliant.

Sherlock.

He gently squeezed their interlaced hands.  
Sherlock's eyes remained closed, his breathing even and calm, he was asleep. 

John felt conflicted. There were all these new feelings that felt so right and yet made him feel guilty and confused.  
Maybe he was still drunk.  
Maybe....  
He didn't know.  
He wanted.......something.....someone?  
Once again he looked at their interlaced fingers. Once more he gently squeezed before extracting his hand and quietly getting up.  
He needed to think. He needed to clear his head somewhere where the sight, smell and presence of Sherlock were not so intoxicating. 

Softly he made his way to the bathroom, turned on the tap and splashed cold water in his face.  
No clarity came.  
The water just stung.  
He looked at himself in the mirror and sighed as his reflection stared back looking equally confused.  
Maybe there was no clear answer.

After a couple more minutes he reluctantly made his way back to his bedroom, but when he got there: Sherlock was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to anyone who is still reading this.


	9. Weeks 7 - 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The evening Sherlock spent in John's room has changed something fundamental in him, but what exactly? John has some figuring out to do.

_Week 7_  
John is feeling nervous and on edge. His mind is all over the place and he cannot seem to concentrate on the homework in front of him.  
It is the Thursday after the party and he is sitting in the library with Sherlock for their weekly study session. 

So far neither of them has breathed a word about what happened in John's bedroom the weekend before.  
Sherlock is just carrying on as if nothing has happened at all.  
As if they hadn't sat side by side on the floor leaning against John's bed. Their arms and legs pressed close together in the dark while John's head rested on Sherlock's shoulder as their fingers slowly intertwined. 

John had been pretty drunk that night and he had hoped that, once he sobered up, he would forget about the colossal mess that entire evening had been. 

About the thoughts he had had, sitting there, in the dark, the smell of Sherlock intoxicating as it surrounded him. That one errant curl delicately draped over his forehead. The shape of his lips....

He had thought about kissing his best friend.  
And the worst part was, now that he is sober again, part of him still wants to. 

He both desperately does and does not want to talk about all these confusing new feelings with Sherlock.  
Does Sherlock know?  
He's very observant.....  
He always knows everything....  
Does he know about this?  
Does he know about all these feelings John has started to develop for him? John himself doesn't even know what they are.

He carefully glances up at Sherlock from underneath his eyelashes. Sherlock is sat at the opposite side of the table, reading a book as he usually does, patiently waiting for John to ask him to help with an equation he can't quite get the hang of. When he does Sherlock will pick up his chair and move it right next to John's. He will have to lean over the table to be able to reach the book John is currently working in. His curls will accidentally brush against John's cheek and their thighs will touch. His radiant blue eyes will stare into John's as he explains the answer and John will not be able to keep his eyes away from the curve of his lips as he talks and the baritone of his voice seems to rattle his insides as it moves right through him.

John finds that he is staring at Sherlock's lips right now. He quickly coughs and lowers his eyes back down to his homework.  
His insides feel funny. There's a warm tingling sensation in his stomach and he feels as if he cannot sit still.  
He feels confused. 

John wants to broach the subject somehow, but he doesn't know where to begin.  
Maybe it is easier to pretend nothing has happened after all. Has anything even really happened?  
Once again he glances up at Sherlock. It is as if his friend has turned magnetic overnight and John is drawn to him inexorably.  
He feels his cheeks heat up as he finds Sherlock looking back at him. 

“Everything alright, John?” 

“I'm fine”, he says, “this homework.....it's just hard.......and the test is coming up.”

“If you need my help with anything..... “

“No....no....it's fine.”

Sherlock looks at him for a moment longer with an inscrutable look on his face but then he just shrugs his shoulders, picks up his book and continues reading. 

To John, somehow, the library feels far too small today. He needs to think. Get his thoughts in order. Find out what, if anything exactly has changed between him and Sherlock and he finds he cannot do so with Sherlock sitting so close.  
It's distracting. It's making him feel nervous. On edge. He wants to run. 

“Mary gave me my coat and wallet back.” He ends up saying. He doesn't quite know why. 

“How very nice.” Sherlock says. His eyes never lifting from the book he is currently reading. Somehow John is a bit disappointed by this. But at the same time....he is also relieved. All these conflicting emotions are making his head spin. He doesn't like it. He has never in his life felt like this. He doesn't know why, but he finds himself blaming Sherlock for it. 

“There was some money missing though.” he continues. 

Sherlock flips a page and continues reading. “Less nice” he says.

“Turns out she's been cheating on me with Jack for months.”

“I did warn you about going to that party if Mary and Jack would both be there.” Sherlock's eyes are still glued to his book. It's almost as if he doesn't want to look at John. 

John ponders over what his friend has just said and all of a sudden he has a completely new revelation.  
“Wait”, he says, “you knew about Mary and Jack?”

“Yes.”

“For how long?”

“Why do you think Mary doesn't like me?”

“You knew the day we met?”

“Yes.”

“And you didn't tell me?”

This time Sherlock does look up from his book. Evidently having picked up on the rising anger in John's tone of voice.  
“Are you seriously getting angry about this?” he asks. 

John doesn't answer. He just crosses his arms and waits for an explanation as he stares his friend down. 

Sherlock sighs.  
“Look John”, he says, “I told you. I'm not good at....this”, here he waves his arms around him as if that explains anything at all, “I thought it was probably socially unacceptable to tell this person you've just met that their girlfriend is cheating on them the moment you meet them.”

“You could have told me later.”

Sherlock is silent for a moment. Avoiding John's gaze. John waits patiently for an answer and when it comes it's not quite what he was expecting.

“Once you learned I was gay I didn't want you to think I was using the fact that Mary was cheating on you as a way to make a pass at you.....I thought you'd figure it out at some point anyway.....you two were breaking up all the time as it was.”  
Sherlock's voice is low and small and it reminds John of that afternoon when they had gone out for coffee and Sherlock had told him about his ex. 

It does nothing to help John clear his mind. 

He feels his anger rise. 

He is mad, but he has no idea why. He's mostly mad at himself probably. Mad at himself for feeling this way. For not being able to figure himself and his emotions out. For still desperately wanting to kiss Sherlock right now.  
Or maybe he's just afraid.  
All his emotions are jumbled up in once big mess of a ball and he can't seem to be able to make heads or tails of them. 

So he just sticks with anger. It's what he knows best. 

“You lied to me”, he says. His tone of voice rising. Several people seated around them shush him.

“I would never lie to you. I withheld information. A completely different thing.”

“So you'd never lie to me?” John is setting up a trap. He's choosing his wording carefully. But a trap for who.....he's not quite sure....for himself?.....for Sherlock?.....either way, whatever Sherlock answers, they are both about to step into a minefield from which there will be no returning. 

“No”, Sherlock answers.

At this point John still has a chance to turn back. Apologize and forget anything ever happened. Release his hand from the grenade he's holding without pulling the pin, but somehow he finds he cannot. Even though his next question will most likely be the undoing of their friendship. Maybe friendship with Sherlock is not what he's after.  
He feels frightened, he feels angry, he feels....

“Are you attracted to me?” is what he asks.

Sherlock looks stunned. His blue eyes wide. His lips slightly parted. Neither of them speak for what seems like an eternity. 

“John.....I.....” Sherlock finally stammers, but John is already in the process of stuffing his books in his bag and getting up. 

“You know what”, he says, “I don't need this”, and without looking back he leaves the library. 

***********************************  
_Week 8 and 9_  
John finds avoiding Sherlock is easy once you set your mind to it.  
He doesn't go to the library the next Thursday.  
Or the Thursday after that.  
Sherlock sends him one text message after the first Thursday he misses.  
It reads: 

_John, I feel like I should apologize, but I'm not entirely sure what for. I feel like I have explained my reasoning for not telling you about Mary well enough. I meant you no harm._  
In case you are still mad: I am sorry.  
I hope to see you again next Thursday. 

John doesn't reply and deletes the text. 

**********************************8  
_Week 10_  
It is Thursday once again and rugby practice has just ended. John is about to head out of the locker room door and head home. Even though he isn't spending his afternoons with Sherlock anymore he doesn't feel like hanging out with the rugby team either.  
He has just put his hand on the door when Sebastian suddenly stops him. 

“I've noticed you're not hanging out with your boyfriend anymore these last couple of weeks”, Sebastian says. A mocking smile on his face. “Lovers quarrel?”

John sighs. He isn't in the mood for fighting. Not anymore. Not after what happened with Sherlock. 

“None of your business”, he just says and tries to leave again but finds he can't because Sebastian is holding the door closed. 

“I've only brought it up”, he says in a conspiratorial whisper as he leans in close, “because I worry about you John. I worry about your grades.”

“Why would _you_ worry about _my_ grades.” John just wants Sebastian to leave. Sebastian hasn't showered yet and standing this close the smell of sweat that surrounds him is almost like an entity on its own. John feels like he's being suffocated. He wants to gag. He wants to go home. He needs to think. Its been over two weeks and he's still not sure about what happened between him and Sherlock. 

“I heard they're going to kick you off of the rugby team if you fail next Monday's test”, Sebastian says, the smile on his face reminiscent of a shark, “I'd hate to see you go.”

John just rolls his eyes.  
“No offense mate, but I doubt studying with you is going to help me pass.”

Sebastian is right though. Now that Sherlock is no longer helping him with his work he is almost guaranteed to fail his next test and get taken off of the rugby team as a result.  
So far he has avoided thinking about this outcome entirely. He just cannot go back to Sherlock....he can't. 

Sebastian leans in even closer and whispers his next words straight into John's ear. His breath feels humid and warm and awful and John silently wishes he could melt through the door, come out the other side and just run until his legs give out.  
“I have the answers to Monday's test.” Sebastian breathes. 

John gives him an incredulous look. “You're so full of shit.”

“I am not! Scouts honour!”

“If you have these answers why would you give them to me?”

“Because I want you on the rugby team! You're a great captain!”

John is still not buying any of this. He knows Sebastian too well. There's always something. A catch. But he also knows that by simply studying on his own he will never pass the test. In the end....what does he really have to lose...

“I suppose you want some form of payment”, he says.

“Oh no”, Sebastian answers, “I'm doing this out of the goodness of my heart. Just come to the tool shed at the back of the school tomorrow at 7pm. I'll give you the answers there.”

“If this is some kind of setup.....”

“Would I lie to you, John?”

John eyes Sebastian warily. The shark-like grin on his teammate's face tells him he should probably trust Sebastian as far as he can throw him, but......he is also curious.....and he really needs to pass his test.  
So, in the end, he just nods.  
The smile on Sebastian's face grows impossibly wide and as soon as he moves away from the door John pulls it open and heads out.  
Away.  
From whatever that was. 

“See you tomorrow!” Sebastian shouts after him.  
John holds his head down and doesn't reply. 

****************************************************  
It is Friday evening 7pm. John is standing outside of the tool shed. The school and its surrounding areas are deserted at this time of day.  
He could still go back home. Forget his deal with Sebastian. Leave Sebastian waiting for him in vain. Waste his time. That'll show him.  
Maybe Sebastian isn't even here. Maybe that's the prank he's trying to pull......

Uncertain he eyes the door.  
He's come this far.  
In for a penny....  
At this point he's also just curious.  
What if Sebastian actually has the answers to Monday's test. He'd be able to pass. Stay on the rugby team and win himself some more time to think. 

He sighs, extends his hand and slowly opens the door. 

The inside of the shed is dark and it takes him a couple of moments for his eyes to get adjusted but when he's finally able to see, sure enough, there's Sebastian, an envelope in his hand.  
But there's someone else here as well. Someone looking just as shocked as he is feeling at this moment.

“Sherlock?!” he says. Unable to keep himself from sounding anything but utterly and completely baffled. 

Sherlock is the first to recover. He just rolls his eyes in that very Sherlock way that John has come to know so well, turns his head to Sebastian and says:  
“I knew he wasn't coming over here because he wanted to talk to me.”

Sebastian just grins and once again John is reminded of a shark.  
“And yet here you are. Even though you knew I was lying to you. Say the name “John Watson” and you come running. Like a dog. Your little crush on him is utterly pathetic.” 

Sherlock just rolls his eyes again.  
“You're one to talk.”

At this remark Sebastian tenses up.  
“Shut up, freak!”, he shouts. Sherlock seems to remain unfazed by the pure rage that Sebastian now spews towards him. “This is exactly why you don't have any friends.”

“Oh, I know”, Sherlock says rather nonchalantly and for some reason the careless tone of his voice hurts John way more than any rage filled tirade of Sebastian.  
“So what's your excuse?”

Sebastian actually explodes at this remark while Sherlock just smiles softly. Looking as cool and collected as ever. 

Perhaps sensing Sherlock's defenses to be unbreakable, he's probably had years of practice at his old school John realizes and his heart gives a small pang, Sebastian now turns his attention to John. 

“I have the answers to the test right here”, he says as he waves the envelope he's holding around. “I told you I wouldn't lie to you.”

John remains standing just inside the door, thoroughly confused and very ill at ease. He is very much regretting his decision to come here. _I should have just gone for the fail_ , he thinks. 

“Why is Sherlock here?” he asks. His eyes boring into Sebastian. He's not sure what will happen if he looks Sherlock in the eyes.

“Ah!”, Sebastian is grinning again. John's question seems to have steered the conversation back along the lines Sebastian had planned it to go, “I'll give you the answers on one condition.”

John chooses not to say anything. He just crosses his arms and looks at Sebastian expectantly. 

“Punch Sherlock in the face.”

“Excuse me?”

Sherlock just sighs and rolls his eyes. As if he'd somehow been expecting this and is utterly bored by the whole situation. 

“He's a freak and he's had a crush on you for ages. It's disgusting. You're lucky he hasn't violated you yet....or has he? Has he touched you inappropriately in the library? You don't have to tell me John. I'm just a friend. Looking out for you. See!”, here Sebastian waves the test answers around, “What has he ever done for you? He's just a weird guy with no friends. He doesn't even attend classes. He just hangs around with you hoping he'll get inside your pants.”

As Sebastian's rant goes on and on John finally musters up the courage to look at Sherlock.  
He looks so alone. Isolated. As if nothing can touch him. But John knows that's not quite true. He's seen Sherlock's softer side. He's seen him smile, he's seen him giggle, he's seen him drift off to sleep. He's rested his head on his shoulder and felt completely and utterly happy.  
He's been having all these conflicting emotions, but for some reason, in this exact moment as Sebastian drones on and on he's never seen Sherlock more clearly.  
And so he swings back his arm.  
His left one.  
He's always been able to dole out the best punches with his dominant hand.  
And punches Sebastian square in the face. 

There is a horrible cracking sound as Sebastian goes down covering his nose with both of his hands. 

“You bastard!”, he screams, “you broke my nose!”

“One can only hope”, John says and as he hears Sherlock start to giggle he can't stop himself from laughing either and he feels his chest warm up with that strange new feeling he's been carrying with him for weeks and finally he is able to name it. 

“You are both mental!”, Sebastian screams from his position on the floor, “I'll report you to the headmaster. See who has the last laugh then!”

“No, I don't think you will”, Sherlock says. His tone of voice warm and full of confidence and John wonders why it took him so long to figure himself out. 

Sebastian just looks at him questioningly. His nose still covered with both of his hands. 

“If you report John”, Sherlock continues, “he'll probably get expelled. Fighting is a serious offense. That means he'll be off the team and away from this school and you will not get to see him again......I don't think that's what you really want.....now is it?”

Sebastian and Sherlock share a look that John doesn't quite understand, but it ends with Sebastian slowly shaking his head as he lowers his gaze to the floor.  
Carefully he gets up from the ground, wincing slightly as he breathes through his nose a little bit too quickly, and makes his way to the door.  
He says nothing as he closes it behind him. 

Now that Sebastian is gone all Sherlock's confidence seems to slip way from him at once. 

Once again he's avoiding looking at John and John realizes he probably still doesn't know where he stands with John. Where they stand. He has to tell Sherlock. Needs to tell him. Needs to figure out how....  
But as John is trying to put into words what he has secretly known all along Sherlock makes his way to the door. 

Sherlock's leaving. He can't leave. Not yet. 

And so John makes his way to the door as well and stops Sherlock by putting a hand on his arm just as he is about to turn the knob.  
Sherlock looks at him questioningly. He is unsure. Maybe a little bit afraid even. It breaks John's heart.  
He's never been good with words and so he decides to show Sherlock rather than tell.  
Gently he moves his hand up Sherlock's arm, past his elbow, across his shoulder, gently his fingers brush along the soft skin of Sherlock's exposed neck.  
His friend swallows, but makes no attempt to stop John so he moves his fingers up further still until they reach the back of Sherlock's neck and, providing gentle pressure, to which Sherlock responds all too willingly, he guides his friend's head down just a fraction in order to gently brush his lips against that soft Cupid's bow just as he's secretly been wanting to do for months now. 

At first Sherlock doesn't respond and John is afraid he's read the situation all wrong. That, now that he's finally figured out what all these feelings he's been having towards Sherlock are, Sherlock will tell him they are unrequited.  
But Sherlock doesn't. Within the small space that still remains between their lips he softly whispers words and as his breath ghosts over John's still slightly parted lips he wants nothing more than to kiss Sherlock again and wrap his arms around him until they're both not quite sure where one begins and the other ends.

“John”, Sherlock whispers. The sounds of his baritone voice so low now that John feels it vibrate through the very core of his being. He only just manges to keep himself from kissing Sherlock again, but it is a near thing. He thinks about kissing Sherlock while he's talking and goes a bit weak at the knees. 

“I thought you weren't gay?”, Sherlock whispers into the space between their mouths. 

John can't help but grin.  
“I've had an epiphany”, he says. 

As Sherlock moves closer to him he feels more than sees his friends answering grin.  
“Took you long enough.”

And then Sherlock's lips are on his again as his hands slowly move to the small of his back and John moves his to that curl of hair at the back of Sherlock's neck he's been dying to run his fingers through for the longest time.  
Sherlock moans and John practically melds their bodies against each other as he steps even closer ands slips his tongue inside and as he does so he realizes he's never been more sure about anything in his life before. 

They kiss for a little while longer, as far as John is concerned he could have spent the rest of his life kissing Sherlock Holmes and he'd have zero regrets, but in the end it is Sherlock who breaks off the kiss.  
He keeps his hands in the small of John's back however. His hair looks delightfully mussed where John has raked his fingers through it. The errant curl on his forehead is back and John can't stop looking at it. 

“Does this mean we're studying together again?” Sherlock asks and he sounds so honest and innocent that John can't help but laugh and kiss him once more. 

“Yes”, he replies. To every possible question Sherlock could possibly ask. 

“God knows you need it. The test is on Monday and Sebastian left with the answers”, Sherlock says with a mischievous smile on his face. John would like to kiss it until it's gone. It might take some time, but he's a patient man. 

“As long as I still get to kiss you”, he says. 

The smile on Sherlock's face widens. 

“You're not going to make me wait until I get an “A” are you?” John adds. 

“This time I'll make an exception.” Sherlock says as he moves towards John one again. His hands in the small of his back not demanding, but guiding John back towards him. _Like the pull of a magnet_ , John thinks. It feels right. It feels like home.  
And as they kiss once again all thoughts of tests, grades and rugby teams are temporarily gone from his mind.  
There is nothing but him and Sherlock.  
The softness of his lips, the way his tongue feels as it makes its way into his mouth, the smoothness of his skin as John moves his fingers from the back of his neck forward to dip them into the hollow of his throat where he can feel Sherlock's voice as he moans and the kiss deepens.  
For now, the world can wait.

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to anyone who's been able to make it to the end of this thing. 
> 
> I've changed my mind about adding another chapter to this story.  
> It will continue, but I'll post it as a different story in my Teenlock series.  
> The reasons for this are that it will probably change the rating to mature and the fact that I have no idea when I'll even get around to writing it.


End file.
